


There's Always a Choice

by JaegarMaister



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29238681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaegarMaister/pseuds/JaegarMaister
Summary: The Vanguard Boyan 'the Snake' has arrived in the town of Benneford due to a contract to rid the populace of a beast plaguing the countryside. Unfortunately, the people of Benneford are divided in matters of religion and when religious unrest reaches a breaking point, the Vanguard is stuck in the middle of it.
Kudos: 1





	There's Always a Choice

A drake made his way down an abandoned street, his hand against the wooden wall of a building for balance. His other hand was pressed against his side, blood rolling down the scales of his armor and darkening his brown leather glove. Gritting his teeth, he peeked around the corner to see the street ahead empty. With a sigh of relief, he turned right and slowly made his way down the cobblestone path.

Eventually, he came to a stop. Crouching by the looted remains of a bakery, the store sign hanging barely from the post, and through the door, the man could see a corpse at the back of the shop with an axe between his eyes. In the distance, he could hear the screams of terror and death.

Boyan, the Vanguard, pulled his hand away from his wound and stared at the wet glove for a moment. His breathing was labored, rapid, but with the momentary rest he was able to calm himself.

 _Bastards..._ He growled and searched one of his pouches hanging from his belt with the gloved hand that was clean of blood. Finding only empty vials or vials with liquid he did not need, the man gave up. He cursed under his breath again.

 _I doubt the wound is too deep. I need to calm down, it was only a little knife... Yes, it couldn't harm me too badly. I bet I wouldn't even need a potion even if I had one._ His thoughts were a mess, clouded by a mix of fear, rage and regret. Glancing back at his bloody glove, his previous resolve wavered.

Trying to stand up, he felt a jolt of pain in his wound. Shocked, the male stayed crouched, but once the initial fear left him, he tried again. Again, he felt the pain, but now he pushed through and got back up to his feet. When he heard the bark of a dog coming from one of the countless alleys that spread away from the main street, Boyan continued to make his way down the path again with a more hurried step than before.

_Fuck. I shouldn't have hurried with the contract. I should've taken my time._

'*'*'*'

Only an hour had passed when Boyan had returned back to the town of Benneford, a trading town located in eastern Blackval near the border of Oronia and Astoria. He had been there for a few days before signing a contract with the local lord to deal with a beast prowling the countryside.

And what a fantastic job opportunity that had been! A simple beast of scales and feathers with no mate nor spawn that prayed upon the villagers of the countryside, but no bard would write songs about slaying it. At least the payment for it was more than a beast like it deserved. Simple commonfolk shitting their britches were quick to exaggerate on their fears.

Well, a payment Boyan never received. When the Vanguard returned back to town, he was met with a mass of people gathered in the town centre. They surrounded a large wooden platform where the gallows had been erected on. On the platform had stood the lord of the town, a herald, a small number of priests and two score guards.

During his many years, the man had seen plenty of executions, be they peasant or noble. He cared little for life lost in such a way. After all, it was not his life on the chopping block. Had he not spied the lord of the town, the man who owed him his reward, Boyan would not have stayed to witness the punishment.

Thinking back, he wished he had just turned around at the gates and left the godsforsaken town behind.

”For the crimes of murder of one Aldrich of Vinra, and the theft of the lost one's property, you are hereby sentenced to death on the count of a fair trial overseen by his Grace, Lord Hawkridge!” The herald had spoken, his back to the accused and his attention focused to the crowd, shouting with all his might.

There was much murmur around Boyan, many expressing their discontent in whispers. Focusing on the herald, he did not hear the exact words uttered, but the tone was clear enough.

”He was a heretic!” Someone from the crowd had shouted. ”The man did the gods' work for us!” There had been many shouts before the man, but Boyan hadn't fully heard them. Even with his enhanced hearing, it was difficult at that distance.

The quiet murmurs began to grow louder and bolder.

A man shouted something near the foot of the gallows after which an argument erupted between different townspeople. The shouting and yelling quickly spread in the crowd and even the people in the back had begun yelling. ”Heretic” and ”Traitor” were among the few words shouted.

Boyan frowned, his hand instinctively gripping more firmly on his bardiche.

” _ENOUGH!_ ” The Lord Hawkridge had roared from the platform. He had stepped forth from his retinue and ahead of his herald. The man was a stout, barrel-chested dragon with a flaming red mane and beard. His blue scales had begun to lose their shine with age, but his posture was still as strong as any youths.

The focus of the crowd returned to their lord. Boyan had thought that the people expected their lord to come forth and release the prisoner and claim he had made a poor judgement. The poor fools.

”This man was convicted of a crime he committed in pure hatred! Is it not a crime to spill the blood of one's brother? Be they of a different faith or not?!” The lord had shouted. The crowd was silent. Hawkridge stood there for a moment to release a sigh.

”I know this man is a good man of faith. His family have already come to me, to plead for his life. He has attended mass and has dutifully served the gods and his kingdom and his lord. I know he is a man close to many of you, my loyal subjects.”

”But that does not take away from the fact that he committed a crime most foul!” The male had shouted, ”I seek to bring justice to all of my subjects, no matter their faith! We have proof and evidence of his crime and so his sentence is declared in good faith and conscience! May his soul return to the gods before he filths it further!”

There was silence in the crowd. Boyan had himself not cared for the lord's words, but he had expected the crowd to be simple enough to be satisfied.

”The heretic Hush has corrupted you! You would choose the heretics over the men and women of your faith! You traitor!” A dragoness had shouted from the crowd.

”Spare 'im, you bastard! He is the gods' man and he served them well!” Another female had joined her voice to the shouting.

At that point Boyan had seen the lord give up in his attempt to appease the crowd and merely stepped back to his retinue of priests. With a wave of his hand, lord Hawkridge gave a signal directed to someone behind the gallows.

A male dragon clad in black cloth and wearing a dark masked hood stepped onto the gallows and took his place by the lever. Grasping it firmly, the executioner had given one final look at the lord, as if asking if he was fully certain. The lord had only nodded and the lever was pulled.

The criminal hung. For Boyan, it was another life lost and life would go on. At that moment, the Vanguard had been tempted to go thank the lord and executioner for the execution had made the crowd go silent.

He was preparing to make his way to the platform to go speak to the lord about his contract when suddenly the crowd erupted in outrage. Shouting and screaming began to fill the air. The lord and his retinue, having begun to take their leave, were surprised by the sudden outburst. Even Boyan tensed up, his bardiche now in both hands.

Boyan had felt a bad sensation. He had felt the need to leave immediately, but he hesitated. And in those few moments, those few heartbeats, the first drops of blood were spilled.

The Vanguard did not know what happened. He only had seen a handful of rocks thrown at the lord and his retinue and the ear-piercing scream of terror that cut the tense air around him. At the front of the crowd, he could see sudden movement followed by some of the people frantically running away.

With a clear view, he witnessed a slaughter. Men had turned on their neighbors, violently attacking them. While others were focused on the massacre of their fellows, a large group had focused their attention on the lord. The guards did their best to keep them at bay, but they broke through. The last Boyan saw of the lord was him pulled down from the platform into the crowd.

”You're a Vanguard?” A voice had asked near Boyan. The drake had turned to see a townsman clutching his bleeding side and an expression of horror on his scaled face. The crowd around them had erupted into similar violence, some fleeing, others killing.

”S-save me... kill them.” The man uttered a word, blood running down his lips, before his eyes grew wide and he fell with a dagger in his back.

Boyan only stared in horror. Thinking back, he was glad he wore a full helmet or else his name alone would not have been enough to keep the rest away.

The townsman who had slain his fellow stepped up and removed the dagger and spat on the other man. He turned his focus to Boyan. ”How 'bout ya help us instead? Join the cleansing, get rid o' these heretics. The bishop'll surely reward ye for the help.”

Staring down at the dead man, the Vanguard was silent for a moment. Growling low beneath his steel mask, Boyan lifted his head to look at this murderer. He shook his head.

”Your conflict is yours. I will have no part in it.” Boyan replied

With a growl, the other man replied: ”No part? Ya bastard! By the bishop's words, yer either with us or against us!”

Without even trying to reply or defend himself, Boyan had lifted his hand and spoken a few words known only to him and the fellows of his Guild. Flames had erupted from his palm and lunged forth at the man. The infernal tongues had covered the dragon and engulfed him. The man had fallen down in horrid screams of pain as his flesh burned.

”If you wish to join him in oblivion, you can try! Otherwise, let me pass!” Boyan had shouted.

Having expected his threat to work, the man had begun to turn and make his leave, but then heard someone lunge at him. Boyan spun with the bardiche in hand and brought it down with an overarching attack. The blade bit deep into the head of a townsman who fell limp.

Soon, others attacked the Vanguard. Surrounded by so many people, Boyan felt the cold tendrils of fear in his spine.

With his training, Boyan was able to defend himself and keep himself from being completely surrounded. He spun and parried and blocked and fortunately for him, the peasants were only armed with daggers and knives and clubs. None of them could bite through his armor.

It was so until he felt a painful sting against his side. Turning while clutching his wound, he saw a man in chainmail and cloth wielding a sword and a pointed dagger. A guard. A fucking guard. The attacker was grinning wildly, expecting to become famed for slaying a Vanguard.

Boyan hadn't had any intention of dying. In a moment of panic, he dropped his weapon and spread both his arms wide. Speaking more of the unknown tongue, more a furious shout than anything else, more flames erupted from his palms. At first, they were slender whips that circled around him, then suddenly they expanded. An inferno of scorching bright orange and red fire surrounded Boyan before it exploded outward, engulfing each man that had attacked him and a handful of others.

The fire was gone as soon as it had arrived, leaving only the burning men screaming like demons as they died.

Boyan had fallen to a knee, panting and exhausted. Grabbing his weapon swiftly, the man had made his retreat. In his flight, he took one last look at the burning bodies he passed. Most were men, but some were women. Some only boys.

'*'*'*'

 _I should've taken my time._ He repeated to himself in his mind as he heard the dog bark again.

The Vanguard passed by countless looted houses, the stench of death emanating from within. It was not as if the streets were any better with bodies strewn about from the orgy of violence.

The street Boyan was walking down was leading to an open market. While he wanted to avoid an open space, and he barely knew the layout of the town, the man felt it was his best option. All the sound of violence seemed to come from behind him.

But as he approached the end of the street, he could hear sharp voices from ahead. Crouching by the corner, he peeked around and the market ruined. Stalls and shops brought down and looted with more corpses everywhere. Blood ran down along the stone cobbled ground.

At the end of the market, through the torn stalls, Boyan saw a group of dragons, their clothing stained and drenched with blood, surrounding a young dragoness and a young girl Boyan could assume was her daughter. Their backs were against the looted remains of a house.

The men were laughing with blood dripping from their weapons. One of them approached the woman and she screamed in fear, trying to flee with her girl. Another of the men lunged forth and pinned her against the wall while a third reached to grab the girl. The little one was quick enough to evade and ran into an alley. The third ran after her.

Boyan stared for a moment as the men tore at the woman's dress, her blue scales revealed through the torn fabric. He growled under his helmet, more from his pain than anything else. He didn't care for the female nor her daughter. His own life mattered more. Unashamedly, he was glad the dragoness was there to distract the men.

With the mens' attention occupied, Boyan snuck around the corner and made his way to another street that led away from the market. He left behind the screams.

He did not get far down along the street before he heard commotion coming from ahead. A fire around the corner cast the shadows of a group of men approaching and Boyan knew he had to hide. Looking around, he saw a handful of alleyways and he ran as fast as he could in his state into the closest.

It was dim in the alley and the disgusting scent that overwhelmed his nostrils was something he dared not even imagine the source of. Still, he went forth to get deeper into the alley. He could see to the far end of it where it turned around the corner hopefully to an empty street.

But as he was getting closer to the end, he saw a man turn around the corner and face him. It was a peasant wearing a dirty brown tunic and a brown hood. In his hand, he carried a cudgel with a bloodied head.

The person stared confusedly at Boyan who in turn stared at the man while leaning against the side of the alley with one hand. Before the other man could act however, Boyan lunged forward while gritting his teeth. Casting a spell, he waved his hand at a rock on the ground ahead of him.

As if by an invisible hand, the rock flung forward with great speed at the peasant. It struck him hard between his eyes. Momentarily dazed, the man stumbled back and before he could react, Boyan's bardiche was coming down on him.

” _HEL-!_ ” Was all the man could utter before his head was cleaved in two. The spray of blood was split in two and rivers of crimson flowed down the drake's brown scales. The man fell limp onto his knees and Boyan had to kick him to get his blade wrenched free.

Boyan was panting more heavily now, his chest heaving as he felt his eyes spinning. The spell he had cast had been a simple one, but he had drained too much of his energies with the inferno.

There was a shout. Then another. Then many more. Boyan felt cold sweat on his brow and the cold tendrils of fear again. He had no time to rest. He had to flee, but he felt like he could just fall down at any moment. His legs felt powerless, but when he saw shapes emerge at the end of the alley, he felt a rush of power return to him.

Looking around, there was only a single door next to him, half hacked to pieces with an axe. The Vanguard rushed toward it and crashed through the half-open doorway. Nearly tripping on himself, Boyan caught himself by grabbing a nearby closet. It fell onto its side, fortunately blocking the path behind him and hopefully giving him some time.

The house he was in was as ransacked as many others. Blood on the wooden walls, a corpse in the nearby room. A pot of untouched stew boiled over a lit fireplace. Whatever materials of wealth that had been in the home were gone.

Making his way to the other side of the house, he reached a door. Opening it, he found himself in another open plaza. There was a fountain in the middle of it with blood red waters from the half a dozen corpses floating in it. There were a few stalls, but not as many as in the earlier market. At the other end of the plaza was a large church, its stone walls seemingly untouched by the violence. The heavy set of oak doors were shut.

And fortunately for Boyan, there was not a soul present.

His relief was short-lived when he heard voices coming from inside the house. He looked back and saw through the door to the alley as a group of dragons stared at their dead man, then at him. Before they could even take their first step towards the house, Boyan was already fleeing.

The Vanguard was making his way to the church, hoping there was someone inside he could beg for help. It was his only hope at that point. He did not even want to consider the alternative.

As he ran, he could see as the doors of the church slowly spread open by a little bit, then a little more as a man in white robes stepped half-way out. He waved his arm frantically.

”In here! In here! Quickly!”

Boyan ran as fast as his legs could take him. He could hear the men chasing him behind him, shouting. His heart was beating faster and faster and he felt his grip on the world loosen. Suddenly, the world began to grow very quiet around him.

Without even realizing it, he had rushed through the church doors inside and fallen onto the smooth stone floor. When he rolled onto his back to look to the door, he saw a handful of men and women pushing the oaken doors shut and putting down a barricade. While his hearing was nearly gone, he could see the doors being hammered by the people outside.

When the pounding on the doors ceased, did Boyan finally relax himself. He lay down on the cold stone floor and stared up at the ceiling. Wooden arches keeping up a wooden roof with a silver chandelier hanging from one of the posts. Only a few of all the candles were lit.

He saw a shadow over him. Turning his head slowly, he saw the white robed man standing over him. Boyan could see his lips moving as he was speaking, but no word reached his ears. There was clearly worry in his eyes though.

The Vanguard reached for his helmet and removed it. It was more like pushing it off of his head as if it was suffocating him. With a deep breath, he felt the cool air against his scales. Cold sweat ran down his brow.

”...you fine, sir?” Sound began to return to Boyan. It was still soft and silent, but he could hear once more. He turned his head to look as another drake walked to stand over him. A big, burly drake with a bloody bandage over his head and wearing a blacksmith's apron.

”Are you fine?” The priest repeated once more. Boyan gave a small nod and tried to sit up. It was difficult for him and he had to exert himself to even lift his upper body up an inch. He felt hands on him and noticed the two men helping him get up.

”I...I'm fine...” Boyan said, his breathing labored. He felt ready to throw up and he felt the world spin in his eyes again, ”Just...give me a moment...”

”We can't.” The priest said, his eyes trained on the side of Boyan's torso, ”You are wounded. We must tend to it.”

”Y-yes. Just... armor... get me out of my armor. S-should be bandages. In my pouch.” Boyan said while one of his hands out of instinct went to the straps on his pauldrons. He was looking at the priest, but the man's face began to grow more and more blurry. Unable to focus, Boyan began to squint his eyes.

”Sir Van-” The rest of the words disappeared into a faint murmur as darkness overtook Boyan's sight. All he could then feel was the cold.

'*'*'*'

_There was a fortress on a hill. A hill of corpses, skeletons, the dead and dying. Surrounding it was nothing but darkness and the uneasy feeling of the unknowing horrors that lie in wait beyond it. A storm of dread raged around him and lightning struck the fortress, yet nothing could crack it's dreadful exterior. No storm, no power, nothing._

_And there was a voice. Voice low and terrifying. It was a voice that sang in the way of undisturbed water. You could see it and understand it, but it was wrong. It was twisted and distorted to the point it was not a voice, but a sensation._

_He felt himself be pulled to the fortress. Nothing he could do could get him away. He could not run nor hide. He had to be there. Had to be there for what he was and what he is. He was to face the horrors because the voice told him to. His life was over so now his life began._

'*'*'*'

Light and warmth came back first. Slowly opening his eyes, everything looked blurry. Blinking, the sight of the dim interior of the church became more clear. There was a circular glass window high above ahead of him behind an altar, each piece crafted to depict the Eight Division of One. Seven sectors surrounding a central circular piece. From the edge of his sight, he saw a familiar shape approach him.

”Thank the gods, you are well.” The man said, ”Well... to an extent. Your wound-” He paused when Boyan lifted his hand to silence him.

”W-water...” He muttered.

A moment passed and something was pressed against his lips. Slowly it was tilted and a liquid poured down his throat. Cool water.

A moment passed again before the Vanguard nodded. He felt the cool air against the bare scales of his chest. There was something pressing against him and more firmly against his side.

”Your wound was deep and I feared we were too late with tending to it, but it seems the gods favor you.”

Boyan lifted his head and looked down. First he saw the familiar golden gleam of his Guild medallion hanging from his neck. Then he saw a bandage rolled around the middle of his naked torso with a large piece of cloth tucked underneath it where he had been stabbed. It was red and wet, but his wound was closed. There were red stains.

”Your armor, weapons and equipment are over your head. Do not worry, your possessions remain untouched, except for the bandages. I am sorry to have taken the liberty, but there are still many here who have a need of quality bandages. You will be compensated for them.”

The priest's words were at that moment only words to Boyan. He rested his head back down on the cold floor and stared up at the ceiling again. There remained an air of awkward silence as the priest stared at his patient.

”Well... I...I must tend to the others. You should rest.” The priest said and made a gesture with his hand before standing up and leaving.

The Vanguard lay there in his thoughts for how long, he could not say. He closed his eyes occasionally and dream seemed to come to him, but was quickly wrenched away from him by the sudden sound coming from outside the church. A scream, a crash, the pounding against the door and the pleading, be it genuine or faked.

Eventually, Boyan finally regained the strength to sit up. It was difficult, but at least now he didn't require any assistance. There was a sharp pain and he pressed his hand against his wound. The cloth felt wet and the palm of his hand turned from grey to red again.

Staring at the bloody palm, he knew he didn't need to thank the gods for his survival nor his luck. It was his blood. The Vanguard Gift, or curse. The potions they made him drink as a child and the meditation, they made sure he would not live like a regular mortal. If only it was so simple.

Boyan wiped the blood against his grey scales. He turned around on the floor and looked at the equipment that now lay before him.

His scalemail was still intact with only the small pierced hole on the side. Blood stained the scales surrounding it. His chainmail was in a similar condition, but his white gambeson was more stained. The white cloth around the hole was darkened by the blood and it had quickly spread and drenched nearly the whole side of it.

The male scratched his jaw, feeling the brown fur of his beard against his fingers. His beard only covered the sides of his jaw, leaving his chin bald. Considering he had survived, he did not mind the price for it was the repair costs of his armor, but it still angered him.

He stared at the helmet that rested on top of his scalemail. A domed steel helmet with a steel half-mask with a chainmail skirt. On top of the dome was a snake baring its fangs. His namesake. He was Boyan 'The Snake' after all. Or 'The Trout' depending on who you ask.

Staring into the empty sockets of the mask of his helmet for a moment longer, the male turned his head and tried to climb up to his feet. It was more difficult than sitting up, but with the help of his bardiche for leverage, he was able to get up again.

The air inside the church was grim. The dozen rows of pews either pushed far to the sides of the hall or to the oak doors as barricades. In their place were makeshift beds, if one could call a piece of cloth that, for the many wounded people inside. There were dozens of them, some only with minor wounds and others near the point of dying. Their dreadful moans echoed in the hall. Some bodies were covered.

Many of the wounded were bandaged with whatever they had in hand. Cloth, robes, clothing. Only a few of the more seriously wounded were dealt with actual bandages. Even so, there were still many who essentially wore drenched red cloths.

”You are finally up.” Boyan turned to see the big, burly dragon with green scales speaking to him. The man was crouched by a body draped by a cloth. It was red at half a dozen spots.

The Vanguard did not reply. In the dim light, he could see a few open wounds on the other drake and that his tunic was slightly tattered.

”How are you fairing?” The man continued, seemingly unphased by the lack of response.

”Better now...” Boyan finally replied. He approached the other drake, using his bardiche as a walking staff. ”I assume I should thank you for helping me.”

”Yes.” The drake replied.

Boyan frowned, but let it go. He looked at the covered corpse. ”Friend of yours?”

”Wife.”

There was a small voice in the Vanguard's head that suggested him to give his condolences, but a bigger part of him didn't care enough to bring it out.

”They thought she was a reformist,” The man spoke, ”They thought she was a follower of Hush. We weren't, but she had always been a kind and accepting woman. She never approved of the Church's hostility to Hush and his followers, but neither did she approve of Robat's methods either. It is all because of that damned bishop. Curse him. May Oblivion await him.”

”The bishop is a man of faith, but he has let himself be blinded by his zealousy.” The priest spoke. He approached them from the side, his sleeves were stained crimson with blood and his hands dripping with life's essence, which he was currently wiping with his white robes.

”I am Father Thomas.” He said, ”You are the master Vanguard, Boyan, yes? I heard of you when you first arrived in Benneford. When the news of you accepting the contract to deal with the beast outside our walls reached my ears, me and my congregation gave your quest our prayers.”

The Vanguard snorted, ”I trust my steel over faith, Father.”

”So everyone always says, but their song soon changes when met with their own mortality.” The priest said with a tired smile.

Boyan snorted again, but now more amused. ”Well said...” He looked back to the burly man crouched by his dead wife. The drake was looking at Thomas.

”A man of faith? Blinded? Aye, you could say that, but he's possessed by his hatred. The Mass he held was more akin to ranting and raving than a sermon. He was more than vocal of his hatred towards the reformers and to the Hushians to the point he was calling out for mass violence.” The green drake spat.

Thomas sighed, ”It is true, alas, that my brother of the Faith has... been compromised. I had sought and hoped to convince him away from his vile sermons and calls of violence, but... Any of the Priesthood would say his stubbornness is a virtue with which he would guide the faithful, but shamefully he has exploited that virtue and turned it to evil.”

”What kind of a man is this... bishop?” Boyan asked. He stood there, staring at the two with his arms crossed.

A low growl escaped the green drake's throat, but before he could utter what one could expect to be a description of how horrid of a man the bishop was, Thomas was quick to speak first.

”Bishop Stephen. He is the religious authority here in Benneford. As Damian pointed out, he has had the habit of turning his sermons to ranting as of late. I would fault it to him being more of a witch hunter than a mere priest.”

”So...” Boyan began, ”A zealot and a witch hunter? It would not take a man like that long to be corrupted by a big hat.”

”I would scold you for that bitter humor if it were not so close to the truth. Yes, I fear the seat of his office has left him with all too much power to the point he was very vocal of his criticism of Lord Hawkridge.” Thomas made a gesture with his hand, ”By the gods, I hope he is safe.”

Boyan looked at Damian. The big drake was silent. Either he didn't know either or he did not wish to tell the priest.

”The lord is dead most likely.” The Vanguard said, ”I didn't see him perish, but I saw him be pulled into the crowd. I wouldn't put it past the unwashed masses to have ripped him to shreds.”

The priest looked shocked. ”To shreds you say...By the gods, I would never even wish such a fate on the vilest heretic.” He made another of the earlier gestures. ”What of his son? Was he present at the execution?”

Boyan had no reply, but Damian spoke up. ”No. His son wasn't present. Neither was the _good_ bishop. I wouldn't be surprised if Stephen chose not to attend just to let his bloodthirsty followers bring slaughter to our town and run our streets red with gore.”

The priest said nothing, but his silence spoke enough for Boyan.

”I... well, I should pray for the poor Lord's spirit and for the young heir. Excuse me.” The priest said and walked past the two. He went to the altar at the end of the church and kneeled down in prayer. The golden statue of the Divine stood on the altar flanked by two candles.

”Do you think that the bishop is behind this? That all of this was his master plan?”

Damian growled, ”Like I said, I wouldn't be surprised, master Vanguard. He is a vile man and overzealous. I'd bet that he even planned the killing, the death of Aldrich. Wouldn't be so hard for a snake like him to whisper venom into the ears of men.”

The big drake went silent for a moment, before glancing at Boyan. ”Sorry.”

The Snake snorted, ”Don't be. My name is what it is.”

Silence then fell between them. Damian sat by his wife, his hands together in prayer. Boyan stared at him at first, expecting the big drake to be done soon and provide conversation, but when it became clear he'd sit there like a stone statue did the Vanguard finally step away.

The grey drake made his way to where his gear was. He took one of the pouches that had hung from his belt and went to sit in seclusion. Unfortunately, it was past the altar beneath the large colored glass window. As Boyan sat there, he heard the faint mumbling of the priest. The moaning of the dying he had long ago grown used to, but the irritating hissing of muttering and mumbling twisted him.

From his pouch, he enjoyed some pieces of dried fruit. He was able to eat in relative peace for a while before he noticed a young boy glaring at him nearby. The boy was crouched by the base of the flight of stairs leading up to the altar, his eyes big as he stared at the Vanguard.

Boyan sneered and looked away. Taking a handful of fruits to his mouth, when he pulled his hand back, the boy was squatting next to him.

”Go away.” He sneered again.

The boy's eyes were on the medallion that hung from his neck. A silver chain holding a circular golden medallion engraved with the sigil of his Guild and surrounded by ancient runes. He looked in complete awe.

”Are you deaf, boy! Go away.” Boyan growled. He noticed the bloody stains on the boy's tunic and the cloth around his neck.

The young child looked up at him, at first taken aback by the shouting, but then only smiled widely.

”Mama said Vanguards are heroes,” The boy chirped, ”You're a hero, yes? You are scary too though, but so are the men outside. You'll surely scare them away!”

Boyan rolled his eyes, ”Yes, a hero I am. Now go back to your mother, boy.”

”I can't. Mama is outside. I ran when she told me to. But she's a strong mama, she'll find me. The good man, the priest takes care of me until then.” He said, at first looking down at his shuffling feet, but then raised his head with a glance towards Thomas.

”Hmph.” He ought to have clouted the little brat over the head for bothering him, but it sounded like he'd suffered enough or at least he would suffer enough later. _Your mother is dead, you little idiot. Gods only know what has happened to her. You've lost everything, because life does as life has a habit of doing, and the streets be your home from now on._

The Vanguard was silent for a moment, his head backed up against the wall behind him. He smacked his lips after swallowing a dried date.

”You-” The boy began.

”Here,” He interrupted the lad. Offering a few of his dried fruits to the little one, Boyan continued, ”Eat and preserve your strength. You'll need it for the days to come. Trust me.”

The boy nodded. Whatever he had intended to say had died in his throat. Instead, he took the fruits and began to hungrily eat them.

Boyan nodded, not really to anyone but himself, satisfied and leaned his head back again. There was relative silence again.

Which was soon broken when Father Thomas approached. ”Made a new friend?” The priest had asked.

The child had climbed onto his feet and rushed to the priest, chirping whatever came to his mind. The priest looked like he had a handful even dealing with the little brat.

”If you are thinking it, no. I'm currently not looking to adopt a boy. Doubt the little tyke has it in his blood to be a Vanguard.”

There was an amused smile on the priest's face. Thomas waved the little boy away. ”Go now. You should rest. The wound's not at all bad, but you should rest still. It'll bring the good times sooner to you, child.”

Boyan watched as the boy made his way to wherever he was resting, surrounded by the countless wounded.

”I saw what you did for the boy.” The priest sat down next to the Vanguard.

”Heh, well... the poor lad will soon be in such pain. Thought he'd deserve to get at least something decent before his heart is ripped out.”

”A realist then? You can't entertain the thought that maybe the boy's mother is alive and well?”

”No. Life is what it is. But if she is, and if she is unharmed, I'll admit I was wrong. Indeed a strong mama to survive unscathed while a trained Vanguard got shanked by some lowlife guard.” He gave a bitter laugh. ”Say, you wouldn't happen to have any of that priestly wine you lot like to keep holed up? I could drink to that.”

The priest shook his head, ”No, but I have this.” he said and from his sleeve he pulled a small metal flask. He opened it and took a quick swig, the blue scales of his face wrinkling when he made a face. Thomas then offered it to Boyan.

”That's... good.” Boyan coughed after taking a shot. Underestimating the strength of the spirit, he had swallowed more than the priest. He handed the flask back.

”Aye. I don't drink that much. I used to, but I've since tried to quit. Every now and then I get the craving, but I've resisted. Now though? Seems like a good time to take a quick one.” Thomas said and slid the flask back in the sleeve of his robes.

”When all's gone to oblivion, then why not?” Boyan offered a fruit to the priest. The man accepted the offer and nibbled on it.

”When all's gone to oblivion, the best we can do is help each other. Be there for each other.”

Boyan laughed, ”You're willing to say that with a straight face considering what is happening outside?”

”Aye. Call me foolish, but I wish to believe in the hearts of dragons.”

”You are foolish.” Boyan gave a toothed grin, mocking the priest.

Thomas ignored him, or maybe he didn't even notice. Boyan couldn't say which it was. ”But look in the hall. There aren't only reformers there, but traditionalists too. All of us have suffered the madness outside, yet here we lean on each other and aid our fellow brothers. It does not matter how you view the gods, by lost blood and suffering we are made family.”

”Are you a reformer then?”

Thomas snorted amused, ”I am... I'm neither. I only wish to guide my children on their path back to the gods and holy Union. Much like Haward... like Lord Hawkridge and Johann Hush, I was for coexistence. If only such plans were threatened by men like Stephen or Robat.”

”I've only heard of Hush in whispers. What kind of a man is he?” Boyan asked. He didn't really care about the man, but he was still tired and he wanted to pass the time. Or maybe he was interested to know what kind of a man was he to become such a thorn in the Church's side.

”He is a... very intelligent man. Leader of the reformist faction here in Benneford. The Lord gave him much freedom, more so than men of his creed elsewhere. He was never one for violence and sought the peaceful solution. No wonder he was never loved by the other factions.

”I've had the pleasure of speaking to him once. A learned man like myself, he had a fantastic way with words. I wonder if, given the chance, he would've been able to calm the crowd down at the execution.”

Thomas looked at Boyan, ”You see, he left a fortnight ago. He left to go hold a lecture or another to fellow reformers in other towns. Teach them the value of coexistence. Maybe it is fortunate he was not here to witness this first hand. It is a shame he will have to return to the aftermath.”

”What about Robat?” The Vanguard asked. He had reached into his pouch for more fruit, but found it empty. Frustrated, he threw the cloth down onto his leg. ”I've not heard of this man.”

”I am not surprised. Robat is not a public man. I've only heard of him from Hush himself,” Thomas said, shifting a bit to a better position, and continued, ”A former knight. Apparently turned into a reformer by Hush himself. I heard the knight was regretful of his former life as a man of war and sought a new calling. Now, I would have praised the man for abandoning his violent ways to embrace the ways of peace...”

”...But he was not a peaceful man, not in the end at least. Hush, for all his wisdom, never could see his friend for what he was. Robat was a knight, first and foremost, and it had never left him. While Hush was the friendly tongue of the reformists, Robat was the iron fist of liberty. Or so they always said. I don't know how much power Robat held among the reformers, but from what I've heard from rumors he was the second-in-command and he was very against Stephen and the Church itself.”

Thomas sighed and rubbed his temple with his thumb. ”Oh, poor Lord Hawkridge. He was a good and just lord, but he was too lenient with Robat. And with Stephen. Pursuing coexistence with Hush at any cost.”

”And when true justice had to be dealt, the seeds of violence had already been sown and for Stephen to reap the harvest.” Boyan said matter-of-factly.

Thomas was silent, only staring at his hands which he was keeping over his knees.

”Will you promise not to desert us if those gates are breached?” Thomas spoke suddenly after some time had passed in silence.

Boyan was taken aback by the question. He snorted, ”It is not my fight. The fools of both sides can slaughter one another for all I care.”

”But the people here. They need a defender, someone to protect them. They need you if the gates fail. The oak is thick, but they are not indestructible.”

Boyan shrugged, ”Not my fight. I'll kill everyone who stands in my way, but if those doors are breached, I will not be here to be slaughtered like cattle.”

”So, the Snake would run away?”

The Vanguard growled. It was true in a way. He would run away. He always did so when things did not go his way. If a contract turned out to be a disaster or things went badly, he was always the first one to run away and protect his own skin. No matter the cost to others. But who wouldn't? He never claimed to be a hero, only a Vanguard.

”Yes, I would. I'd rather live another day than die to a pointless cause.”

”And live with the fact you could've done somethi-”

”Yes. Would not be the first time. Besides, I am in no condition to fight. I'd die with an axe in hand, but I'd die and I am in no hurry to die.”

Thomas was silent again, before speaking up. ”I know you say that, but I saw what you did for the boy. There is good in your heart even if you refuse to see it. You are not a complete craven, Boyan. Why give false hope to a child, master Vanguard? Do you not want your name to be spoken with a smile and not followed by being spat at?”

”Why must you assume I want to act the hero? I'm here just to complete a contract, nothing more! I was only pulled into this mindlessness, because of those fools at the execution, those who demanded me to join their vile butcher and then attacked me when I told them no.”

”Why must I be the hero of this town? Why can it not be Hush, the man who was not there when his people needed him. Why can it not be Lord Hawkridge, the man who was meant to lead his subjects. Why can it not be you, the man who sides with all. Why could it not be the people of this godsforsaken town? Why couldn't they have only resisted the violence the Church demanded of them? All they had to do was choose not to believe the bishop.”

”Maybe there was no choice for them.”

Boyan looked indignant, ”There is always a choice.”

”It isn't always so simple, master Vanguard,” Thomas said, ”Of course, it is very simple for you. You are a man with the skill of the blade and the knowledge of magic. You and your peers have on many occasion risen up to be the heroes of the lands and slain many a beast and demon. Yes, it is very simple for you to say there is always a choice.”

There was a moment of pause while the priest shifted. ”But now consider the man who is not you. A man of family, be him a husband, a son, a brother or a father. His choice is to turn his back to everything he has been taught and to abandon his life. His choice is to risk all of it, his family and his life, for the words of a stranger. A stranger who, mind you, they believe to be wrong and actively trying to cause them and their spirits harm.”

Boyan gave a bitter laugh, ”Aye, but that's only because of the likes of Stephen. Those who spark fear in the people for their own agenda.”

”They are not any different from the man who is not you, master Vanguard. They have a view of the world that they are not so willing to throw away. A view given to them by the people before them who were given that view from the people before them. Who is then to be blamed, how far back must we go?”

”Then it is everyone's fault for not seeing a better choice.”

”Ah, and now we return to the choice once again. The choice of what, master Vanguard? To forfeit all you know and believe in just because what they consider to be good and right is what you consider to be evil?”

Boyan nodded, ”Clearly. If they can't see the evil that is happening outside, then someone ought to teach and guide them. Would you consider those responsible for the slaughter to be good people?”

”I would consider them to be misguided. They have been guided by fearful men who, in their hearts, believe they are doing the right thing for their fellows and their creed. These people only want the best for themselves and their families and this is the world they know.”

There was another pause, which Boyan interrupted with a frustrated sigh. ”They made their choice to slaughter their fellow townspeople, because of religious differences, because of hatred spurred by an overzealous bishop. They made their choice and it was the wrong one.”

”I agree it is the more horrible of choices to commit. Such atrocity to commit on your brothers, but I... I cannot fault them for seeing it their only option. Like I said earlier, master Vanguard, there is not always a choice. It is not because another choice doesn't exist, but because it is too impossible of a choice to be even considered by the man who is not you.”

Boyan did not reply. He only raised a hand to his forehead to rub it. He was too tired for all this talk of philosophy and belief nor was he drunk enough to endure it, especially with a man of the cloth.

Thomas seemed to be amused by the reaction, considering his tired chuckle. ”I should let you rest. I doubt my lecture does anything to help your current condition, although I have heard from some that my sermons are the best cure for insomnia.”

Boyan did not laugh.

Thomas shrugged and stood back up. He went to wipe dirt off his robes, noticed the blood that stained it, and thought it to be futile. ”I beg of you to consider what I said earlier. To not desert us.”

”Were you not the one that asked if the Snake would run away?” Boyan sneered.

The small smile on Thomas' face never wavered. ”Yes, but I am still hopeful that this old priest would be proven wrong. That the Snake wouldn't run away.”

With a small respectful bow, the blue scaled drake turned on his heel and left the Vanguard alone with his thoughts.

The man's words stayed in Boyan's head for the rest of the day. They felt, to him, wrong and without sense. Why would men be allowed to choose to commit such violence and then claim they had no other choice. Of course there was a choice, there was always another choice to be taken. They were only just blinded by their beliefs and their zealousy and hatred. And by the bishop and his hostile rhetoric.

'*'*'*'

The day had passed with Boyan resting through the rest of it. The occasional shriek and the sound of violence came from outside, but it seemed the chaos had begun to calm down. The choice had been made to stay in the church until they were certain order had been restored to town and the lord's men were in the streets.

The second day passed uneventfully as well, though hunger and thirst had quickly become an issue. There were no supplies in the church and the people knew they'd have to open the doors to leave. They held hope and prayed that the garrison of Benneford would finally march from the keep to bring order, but nothing came. No one dared to go up to the belltower to watch. There had been one man keeping watch during the riots of the first day and an arrow had pierced his throat.

On the third day, Boyan had woken up much more rested than before. The mana fatigue he had felt on the day of the pogrom had already left his spirit during the first night, but the wound he had received was still weighing him down. His natural healing was faster and more effective than any mortal man's, but it was not fast enough for the first two nights. There were still jolts of pain in his body each time he put weight on that side of the body.

”How old are you?” The young boy from the first day was asking Boyan. The Vanguard was seated on one of the pews that had been pushed to the side of the hall. The boy was sitting crosslegged next to him, his eyes wide as he stared at him.

Boyan looked at the boy. After the first night, the boy had watched him from afar and had come asking for more dried fruit. He had been disappointed to have heard they'd run out. He then came later to ask for water. The Vanguard had offered a sip from his waterskin. After that, the boy had constantly followed him and occasionally spoken to him about this and that about the town.

”Why do you ask?”

”Well, my mama said that heroes aren't like us and that they live for years and years and years. She said that her mama's mama knew of a hero who still lives.” The boy spoke with a thoughtful expression.

Boyan shrugged, ”I'm near a hundred years old. Give or take. I've stopped keeping an accurate count of the years.” Although he was so old, he looked as young and youthful as he had when he first ventured out of the Guild as a fully-fledged Vanguard. Maybe a bit more muscular now and more scarred.

”A hundred?!” The boys eyes were like large white and orange plates. Boyan felt almost afraid they'd pop out. ”That is...so many!” The boy chirped, taking a pause to count with his fingers. Boyan noted the boy only counted three fingers.

”How many beasts have you killed? Have you ever been scared? Do you have any awesome trophies to show?”

The grey drake only groaned. He was not used to such vocal fans. Truth be said, he was not used to fans either. ”No idea. Never. No.” He replied.

”What about other Vanguards? Have you met the Bear? Or what about the Jawless?” The boy's eyes seemed to almost glow with excitement when a plethora of other Vanguard names and nicknames followed the first. It all sounded like an irritating clutter of noise to Boyan's ears and made a half of him want to clout the little tyke over the head.

”The Bear and Jawless are the same. Used to be called the former until he was... well, he _earned_ the new name.”

”F-former?” The boy asked, confused.

The drake groaned, ”Former. Like, as in the first one.”

”Ooooooh...”

While the young child contemplated this new word he had just learned, the Vanguard looked around the hall. There were more dead people, those who had passed over night and those who had passed with someone awake and ease their passing. There weren't enough cloth to cover all of them.

”What ab-” The boy had begun, but was silenced when a loud thud came from the door. Boyan's head snapped quickly to the door and he was already up on his feet with his bardiche in hand. There was another thud. The last time someone had tried to break the door open had been yesterday at midday, but it had been meager compared to the current attempt.

Another thud. The doors reverberated and one of the pews in the barricade fell down and cracked. People inside began to panic, many fleeing to the other end of the church to try and desperately find a way out. The window over the altar was too high up, but it did not stop them.

”Van.” Damian made his way to Boyan. The big drake was armed with a large hammer, which had been hanging from his belt. ”Will you help with the barricade?”

Boyan looked at the boy. The little lad had taken shelter under the pew. The Vanguard sighed and nodded to Damian. They made their way to the barricade.

Thomas and two other men were already working to keep the barricade up. Another pew fell as a heavy strike came against the door. Damian and Boyan went to lift it up. The Vanguard felt a sting of pain in his side, but he pushed through. The pain was nothing compared to the training he had received nor to the emptiness of oblivion.

There was shouting coming from the other side, but with the heavy, thick oak doors and stone walls, even Boyan couldn't make out the words. While helping the other men, the Snake looked around the hall of the church, looking for a way out.

Cracks had begun to appear on the door as more and more strikes came at it from outside. Boyan could only guess the attackers were using a ram. Were the rioters truly so desperate to breach the church and slaughter them?

”We can't hold!” One of the men growled, beads of sweat running down his brow as he pushed back against the naked oak door.

”We must!” Thomas shouted, ”They must not enter!”

”Then it is a good day to die and be one with the gods again. Master Vanguard, any last words?!” Damian shouted over the cracking of wood and the screaming of the terrified people.

”Only that I wish I had instead chosen a contract in Kyria!” Boyan snarled. He was terrified deep down. His eyes looked around in desperation. He did not want to die, he hadn't gone through all that suffering only to die in some church. There were no routes out of the church, only the glass window and it was too high even for him. With a spell, maybe, but would he break the glass? He'd only break his legs in the fall.

There was a heavy thud against the wall and Boyan felt a pew fall on him. He collapsed and fell forward, a jolt of shocking pain erupting from his wound. He spat a spell and a gust of wind rushed forth from his hand and threw the pew away against the wall where it splintered into a hundred pieces.

When Boyan was on his feet, the other men had fallen back with him. The oaken door was nearly broken.

The Vanguard gripped his bardiche with both hands. He had no armor on, except for his bare chest and trousers. He had the skill to survive against peasants, but overwhelming numbers could best anyone. He did not wish to die, but he would make them bleed heavily for his life.

Another thud and the doors cracked open. Dust rushed in with the wind while splinters exploded and sprayed away. The light of the day shone through the open doorway through the dust and Boyan could see dark figures over the threshold.

But they were not peasants. They were not savage men in tunics armed with whatever rusty knives they had in their reach. Through the open doorway rushed men-at-arms clad in brigandines and armed with spear and shield. They barked orders, shouting at the men and women and children inside to get down.

Boyan heard the men near him drop their weapons. He did not drop his. Instead, he only gripped it tighter.

”Drop it! In the name of Lord Hawkridge, drop your weapon!” One of the soldiers barked, the visor of his helmet masking his face, but the snarl on his muzzle was visible.

”At ease, soldiers!” A sharp order came from behind the doorway. Boyan turned his head to look and saw a man in steel plate with a shield in hand, but sword sheathed. A short cloak hung from his back, clasped together with a golden chain. He wore no helmet, leaving his blue scales and crimson mane visible.

Boyan heard Thomas fall to his knee. ”Lord Gennedry!” The priest gasped, ”You are safe!”

”Yes. Unfortunately, my father did not survive the pogrom.” The young lord said, his eyes slowly taking in the sight of the hall before him, of all the wounded and terrified people. He lifted a hand, ”You are all safe now. The rebels have been dealt with and the violence has ended. You shall all be tended to. Guards, help them!”

The soldiers relaxed and rushed in to help the people in need.

Boyan eased his grip on his weapon and let the tension leave his body. With the adrenaline gone, he felt the pain sharply in his side. The Vanguard placed the butt of his bardiche against the floor and leaned against it.

Gennedry walked to Thomas and helped the older drake back up to his feet. ”I am glad to see you are unharmed. What happened was absolute madness and I'll need your help to rebuild everything.”

”Your Grace,” Thomas began, ”I'll do all that I can to assist you.”

At that point, Boyan had made his leave for his equipment. With the oaken doors open and the rioting over, he could finally leave. He could hear the young lord and the priest talking, but he didn't care to make out what they said. Once with his belongings, he began to don his armor.

He held in his hand his helmet. All that remained to be put on. His clothing underneath his armor felt wet and cold, but he would manage. He'd ride out to the nearest town from Benneford and have someone tend to his equipment while he took a long bath. Maybe seek company with someone.

As he stared into the empty sockets of his visor, he heard someone approach. Turning, he saw the young lord.

”Master Vanguard,” He began, ”Thomas spoke of you. It is unfortunate what occured here and that you were caught in the middle of it. You were returning from a contract, I understand? Shameful. I apologise for what you had suffered and I vouch that all those who've committed sin today, be they heretic or not, have been punished justly.”

”Pretty words, _your Grace_.” Boyan said, ”But a little too late. Either way, I do not care. I'd rather be gone and leave this town behind him.” He had, at that point, forgotten about the contract, ”After I've received my reward.”

A small smile appeared on the lord's lips, but he was not smiling. ”I see. Of course, understandable. Go to the keep. My steward will deal with it. It is unfortunate you are in a hurry to leave, master Vanguard, for I would have use of your services. I could offer a contract for you, help me keep in line those who had wronged us.”

”I thank you for the offer, _your Grace_ , but I'll decline. Got enough of a bad taste in my mouth.”

”Shame,” Gennedry said, ”Then I will bid you good luck in your future endeavours.” With that the young lord left the Vanguard alone. Alone except for the young boy standing at his side.

”You're leaving?” The boy pouted.

”Aye. You should leave too. Go find your mother.”

”But... I want to find mama, yes, but I want her to meet my hero... You were so strong there, holding back the door, and you were ready to fight back the guards too!”

”Just go, boy. Your mother must miss you.” Boyan said. Anything to be rid of the brat.

The young child sighed, his head hanging low, ”Fine...”

The boy didn't move. Boyan stared at him for a moment and poked at him with the butt of his bardiche.

”D-do you think you could take me to become a hero like you? Like...like a Vanguard?”

The grey drake snarled, anger flashing behind his eyes. ”Just go, boy. _Now_.”

The boy looked sad and left, making his way to Father Thomas.

As Boyan was taking his leave, having walked through the open doorway of the church and catching the scent of burnt houses and ash in the air, with the metallic scent of blood mixed in, he heard Father Thomas call to him. Turning, he saw the priest approach.

”I wanted to thank you, master Vanguard.”

Boyan snorted.

”Truly. You stood with us when all seemed lost. You did not run, you did not falter. You were the last to lower your weapon.”

”Enough, priest. I do not wish to hear more of it.”

Thomas chuckled, ”Why? Grown unused to kind words?”

Boyan did not reply, but only snorted after a moment of silence. ”Maybe. Maybe it is because I hate to admit you had a point of sorts. I do not believe your bullsh- your view on the whole matter, but I didn't run, because there was no choice. I didn't have a choice. I never did.”

”But you made the best of it.”

The Vanguard was silent before shrugging, ”Aye. But whatever, it is in the past. Life is what life is and I shall go on. Don't expect me to come back to Benneford any time soon.”

”If you do, remember that the doors of the church will be open for you.”

”If you do not have those doors fixed, they'll be open to everyone.”

Thomas chuckled again. He made a gesture with his hand, offering his blessing to the drake.

Boyan only gave a small, indifferent wave of his hand, before turning to leave.

'*'*'*'

The soft rhythmic music of hooves scraping against a dirt road rang in the air as the grey scaled male rode away from the town of Benneford. His pouch was heavy with gold once more and the smell of death in the air had been replaced with the earthy scent of the countryside. The walls of the city had already grown small in the distant horizon and ahead of him the start of a forest began.

He would not forget his unfortunate time in Benneford. Nor would he forget Father Thomas. For the priest had been right at first. The Snake would run. But Boyan had not.


End file.
